Where I end and you begin
by Intervigilium
Summary: One-shot, very small and straight-forward. One of the character's a given, but you get to name the other. Thoughts on Quidditch, mostly. Read and review, if possible.


The shadowy figure crossed three flights of stairs, reaching the Entrance Hall. The pace of his Quidditch boots in the stillness was the only distinguishable sound in miles, it seemed. Hogwarts was still fast asleep.

The cold breeze hitting his face as he stepped outside was the absolute broadcast of his own mood. There was just far too much going on in that mind… _I need some sky_, he had told himself earlier. _I need perspective_. No better place to clear the mind than the empty stadium.

_Quidditch's good for the soul_, he pondered.

Pulling the parka closer to his body and cursing the morning sleet he strode, one hand clutching the handle of a beautifully crafted broom. It was a prized possession, and treated as such: he doubted anyone in the castle's perimeter gave as much concern to flying and its benefits as he did. _At least I don't see any other lunatics this early on a Saturday, at any rate_, he concluded, shrugging. A small hill was before him. From there, a large open bridge over the familiar chasm that separated the massive stadium doors from the rest of the property.

He stopped in the middle of the bridge. Heavy shots of smoke left his nose and mouth, the cold making its way inside his vests as he stood there. He looked back to the amazing grounds. _Then again_, he thought, _why restraining to the stadium when I have the entire place to myself_?

It was a minute's worth of thinking. The boy quietly raced for the edge of the bridge, throwing the broom ahead of him and jumping to nothingness right after.

It woke him from any remaining lethargy. His quiet self was, from that moment on, a vague memory in the back of his head, only to be summoned when his feet should find the ground again, and this would not be soon. He rejoiced with the howling wind in his ears, the river running below him, closer and closer. Anyone else would probably be in despair. Not him.

_There_, and only there, was where he truly existed; in that magnificent, transitory thrill between what stood a yard behind him and what the next second was bringing forth. No school, no friends of foes. Just the absolute confidence that nothing was unsurpassable. There was _nothing_ he couldn't overcome.

Twisting his wrist he caught a gleaming dagger shooting out of his sleeve. Through it, the mental patterns and commands lasted less than a second. In free fall, he commanded his broom to return, reliable as always to his grasp. Mounting it while in mid-air and safe-guarding the dagger was a second-nature, singular movement. The tip of his boots skimmed through the uneasy water surface and he recovered from the dive, making his way between the rock formations and finding the massive lake surface as he shot himself out of a canyon to the morning freedom, some good dozens of miles per hour awakening every cell of his body. The parka weakly tried to slow him down, trembling wildly. It was no good. He tightened his clutch and bent his body low on the broom's surface.

_This is the best drug in the world_, he pondered, high on adrenaline, a misty cloud of water lifting in his wake. Violently he switched courses, blasting a good share of the lake up as he went vertical, farther and farther, stretching for the now faint stars. Dawn would catch up with him soon…

About a hundred feet above the Astronomy Tower, he broke, looping and reorienting to the ground with a barrel-roll. He circled the properties like a bird of prey, taking his time, accelerating. It was odd… the faster he went the smoother and clearer he seemed to think. There, the general population believed, was his edge for Quidditch: you could push him, you could taunt him, and the farther you went the wilder he'd get, and the greater would be your disappointment as he came out on top every single time.

_If he had outwitted a dragon, after all, what would be the odds for an opposing Seeker?_

Such was the question in the mind of the one person observing him. The one person that, by bad timing and two corridors of distance, didn't run into him that morning. Quietly hidden at a high bridge linking two castle towers, she took her time in the shadows, eying him intently, somewhat wishing to be discovered, caught off guard. _Go ahead and see me already_, she pleaded mentally.

Her own broom stood quietly in front of her. If it could talk, she was sure it would provoke her into aiming the heights just as well. Just to see his reaction, just to have his eyes aiming for her and not a tiny golden spark devilishly fast, as he was used to.

_Not today, though_, she thought, a bit dismayed. The first beams of sunlight hit him while he zigzagged through towers in the distance. He stopped, mesmerized by the moment, his shadow projected over a wall. He just sat there, recovering his breath, hovering, the parka now drenched in a combination of morning frost, water from the lake and his own sweat. He stared heavily at the sun as it grew higher and higher.

_They are colliding forces_, she thought, smiling weakly._ One ruled the skies a second ago, now it's the time for the other._

About a mile away, he sensed it. He felt eyes watching over him. It wasn't something he could lock on, but it was there, he knew it. The boy strained his Seeker eyes around the nearest towers, the closest windows. It was no good. It was only then he remembered the unsuspecting bridge far from him, the shadows cast around it.

They were looking directly at each other and had no idea about it.

Divided between investigating this tingling in his spine and making his way down, he decided for the latter. Whoever it was (and he simply KNEW he had been observed), had the decency to understand what that flight meant to him, and how important it was that he was alone at it. He ought to show the same respect. And hope that, in due time, _she_ would reveal herself to him, and they could sit and talk about it. Or _fly _about it…

He knew in his heart no man would have the compassion and acceptance his 'spotter' had shown. _It had to be a girl_, he thought, entering the Hall and losing himself in the sound of his footsteps again. Another subject to ponder over...

As for her…

There was a soft click as she locked the tower door behind her and made the way down to her House. Breakfast could wait. So could her own flying, given the private show she had been awarded with that day. Instead, she re-entered silently her bedroom and found her sheets more welcoming than ever.

_Quidditch's good for him… for his soul_, she pondered, the stubborn smile lingering on her lips.

_And maybe someday… I'll be good for his soul too_.

**PERSONAL NOTES**: Okay, this is a shot a bit far from my current field, but it just sounded so good in my head that I had to post it just for the sake of doing it. I kind of like writing this one-scene situations; it's a good way of keeping track of all the things I'd like to add up to the full story, so later on I know how to separate what sounded completely absurd from what makes some sense, :)

I hope I was able to translate it the right way, though. This will probably make an appearance way down the road in my Alternate Universe in a different way. Name the characters as you please... see how considerate I am?

Do tell me what you think about it! Thanks for the patience.


End file.
